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The Forbidden Brother
Barbara McMahon


Stunning gallery owner Laura Parkerson's life is turned upside down by the appearance of Jed Brodie.Not just because he's broodingly handsome–but because Jed is her late fiance's twin. Looking at him, Laura feels butterflies. He's nothing like his twin brother–but how can she be sure she's not just bewitched by the mirror image of a man she once promised herself to? Laura's falling in love with the forbidden brother…









The Forbidden Brother

Barbara McMahon















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE




CHAPTER ONE


LAURA carefully replaced the receiver of the phone. She wanted to slam it down after first yelling at Maria Brodie to stop calling her every day in her attempts to micromanage everything. But discretion being the better part of business life, she had kept her voice calm, sharing none of her frustration with the woman on the other end of the line. Proud of her self-control, she waited until the connection had been cut before giving a discreet “Eeeek!”

The woman drove her crazy!

Not for the first time since Hugo Atkins had died, Laura wished he was still running the gallery and the one she could escalate problems to. But the buck stopped with her these days. Inheriting the small art gallery in Miragansett turned out to be a mixed blessing. Normally she loved her calling, even when dealing with difficult artists like Maria Brodie. Actually if Laura and Maria’s conversation had centered around Maria’s work, it would have been easier to deal with.

Instead they were involved in an ongoing battle to determine how many of Maria’s son’s paintings would be displayed in a public retrospective Laura had agreed to host at the gallery next month. They were in the final stages of planning, only two weeks left before the night of the opening. Laura wished Maria would let her do what she did well and go back to her painting.

She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. She was getting a headache as she often did after dealing with the temperamental artist. Some of it was pure guilt. Keeping a life-changing secret wasn’t easy. At one point, Laura had expected Maria to become her mother-in-law. Now she wondered if they could have been so related and not end up killing each other one day. It was hard enough dealing with her since Jordan died. Her own emotions were in turmoil. The hurt and grief was gradually easing. Dealing with Maria kept everything to the forefront. She hoped time would heal the relationship. Once the show was over, there’d be little necessity of daily checkups by Maria. Come on July!

“Laura, I need you out here right away!” her assistant called from the gallery.

Heather was usually a calm and collected young woman. What caused that note of panic in her voice?

Was there an emergency? Laura rose and dashed across her small, cluttered office. Off-limits to all but closest friends or business associates, the office reflected none of the serenity and beauty of the displays in the gallery. Stacks of papers cluttered the desk. A utilitarian file cabinet sat against one wall. The furnishings were functional and serviceable, nothing fancy. Hugo had left all that to the showrooms of the gallery.

She opened the door and stepped into another world. Paintings graced the walls, discreetly illuminated by full spectrum, high tech lights. Thick carpeting muffled most sounds. Scattered artfully on free-standing pedestals were sculptures of renown. She offered metal, stone and glass objets d’art, as well as the paintings for which the gallery was known. Hugo had built the business in the historic Cape Cod town to cater to locals and tourists alike. Laura was carrying on in his footsteps.

Heather stood across the room talking to a tall man whose back was toward Laura. He wore a business suit, unusual during the casual summer months. The expression on her assistant’s face was indescribable. When she spotted Laura, relief became evident. The man turned.

Laura stopped—stunned. Her heart caught in her throat. It was impossible. Before her stood Jordan Brodie! A thrill of gladness swept through her for a split second.

Then the truth hit her. This couldn’t be Jordan—she’d attended his funeral three months ago.

“Laura Parkerson?” the man asked. The voice wasn’t Jordan’s. It sounded different, more clipped, not as lazy and teasing. The expression on his face was mingled: wariness and cynicism. Yet he looked exactly like Jordan.

“Yes?”

“You own this gallery?” he asked.

“I do.”

“I thought it belonged to Hugo Atkins.”

“It did. He died a couple of years ago. Now it’s mine.” No need to go into the details of her inheritance. She’d worked for Hugo for several years, learned so much from him. She missed him every day. He knew she loved the place as much as he had and, with no children to inherit, he’d made Laura his heir.

“He’s Jordan’s brother,” Heather said needlessly. “His twin brother.”

“I didn’t know—” Laura started to say. She closed her mouth. Why should she be surprised to discover her former fiancé’s brother was a twin. It was not the first thing Jordan had kept from her. Once again the sadness of her loss swept through her. She’d loved him. To her Jordan had hung the moon. Until that fateful day. She rubbed her chest, the ache as fresh as it had been three months ago when she’d learned of Jordan’s betrayal and death.

“What can I do for you?” Seeing him was like seeing a slightly skewed version of Jordan. This man was the same size and shape, but there was an electricity about him that never came from Jordan. An assurance that came from a quiet selfconfidence, not arrogance from bravado and posturing. Jordan had been as charming as could be, which allowed him to get away with things other men couldn’t. And allowed him to sweep her off her feet. She’d never felt so special as when she’d been with Jordan Brodie.

“I’m Jed Brodie. I’ve come to pick up my brother’s paintings. I understand you have some of them,” he said.

“I do. I just got off the phone with your mother, as a matter of fact. We’re working on the scheduling of a retrospective for his work next month. What do you mean you’ve come to pick up the paintings? I’ll be framing them here. Is that a problem?”

“I need to get the paintings appraised for tax purposes. And if they’re worth anything, decide if I want to sell them now or later.” He glanced at his watch impatiently.

“Sell them?” Laura felt like a parrot. But she didn’t understand. Was he expecting some kind of windfall from Jordan’s body of work? “Your mother said she didn’t want the paintings sold. She wants to show them to the community as a memorial to Jordan.” The problem was Maria wanted to show them all. Laura was hard-pressed to pick a dozen or so to fit in the alcove where the display would be.

She glanced at the alcove. Jordan had pushed her for an exhibit in her gallery from the day he met her. Fully convinced he would set the art world on fire, he’d been relentless in pushing to have a one-man show. She’d been equally reluctant. She didn’t like mixing business and personal. Plus, sad to say, Jordan’s work wasn’t the high caliber she was used to showing. Maybe if he’d worked harder at it. Forever too late now.

“My mother has little say in the matter. I need to find out what they are worth and then dispose of them—either sell, give away or toss in the trash, whatever’s appropriate.”

“These are your brother’s paintings. You can’t throw them away.” Laura was horrified at the thought. She knew the paintings would never be classified as great works, but wasn’t there any family loyalty and ties? The two men were twins, for heaven’s sake. Weren’t twins supposed to be close?

He looked down his nose at her obviously not wishing to belabor the subject. “Actually I can do whatever I want with them.”

“But I’ve already scheduled the showing. Announcements have been made in all the local papers. The brochures are at the printer’s just waiting the final details. Framing has started. You can’t halt everything at this point.” Did he have any idea of how much work she’d already done?

“Then perhaps you and I need to discuss the matter before things proceed any further. I’m only here for a few days. I need to get everything lined up and taken care of before I leave,” he said impatiently.

“Your brother died three months ago and you’re just showing up now?” No one had said a word about Jordan’s brother at the funeral. She thought it odd, but her own grief and guilt kept her from questioning anything too closely.

Why had he arrived today? And what business was it of his what happened to Jordan’s paintings? Maria was definite with her plans. She wanted her son to have his day in the sun, even if posthumously.

He glanced at Heather, then back at Laura. “Is there someplace we can discuss this in private?”

Laura hesitated. She felt like she was in a time warp, talking to Jordan, only not. Staring at Jordan and seeing someone different. Feeling mingled emotions, longing for what was long gone; confusion as she noted the differences between the men. A little animosity flared at his attitude and his threats to her carefully planned show. An acute awareness of the man’s masculinity surprised her.

He was obviously Jordan’s identical twin, but neither Jordan nor his parents had ever mentioned that fact to her. All Jordan had ever said was his younger brother rarely came home. How much younger could a twin be?

“Are you the black sheep of the family?” she blurted out. Maria and Jefferson Brodie had talked a little about this son. Once Maria had said he’d gone off to do his own thing and turned his back on his family. He wasn’t interested in painting or sculpturing. And from what Laura knew of the family, they had no interest in anything that did not center around painting or sculpturing.

“If you call getting a good education and then supporting myself by working, then yeah, I guess you could say that,” he replied.

It was in direct contrast to Jordan. He’d dropped out of college to paint. The call of his muse, he’d often said. And paint he did, when the mood struck. The rest of the time, he spent on other pursuits. But none that entailed a nine-to-five job. He was usually seeking inspiration by lying on the beach, sailing or clubbing.

Their mother, Maria Brodie, was a famous oil painter. Her works brought tens of thousands of dollars with each sale. Jefferson Brodie was the father of the Brodie men, an extraordinary sculptor whose marble and granite creations she’d love to represent, but who had an exclusive deal with a Manhattan agency.

Maria did condescend to sell some of her paintings through her gallery, not as many as Laura might wish for, but probably more than she should expect given how limited her clientele was.

From the first moment Laura met Jordan, she’d known Maria expected her son to follow in her footsteps. Yet, not for her precious son the struggles of a starving artist. She supplied the cottage he lived in and support while he painted. Even the flashy car that he’d wrapped around a very unforgiving tree had come from his mother.

Jordan had painted, partied and left a collection of work some of which Laura was going to show in memory of a man who died too young.

Now this man, Jordan’s own brother, threatened those plans. She needed to talk to him and he was right, darn him, the showroom wasn’t the place.

“Come with me. Heather, handle anything that comes up, will you?” Laura headed for the workshop in the back of the gallery, where Jordan’s paintings awaited framing. The ware-houselike space was lined with shelves holding different paintings or sculptures. Some were awaiting display. Others had been bought and would be shipped to their new owners in the next day or two.

Frames leaned against one wall, an assortment of sizes and styles used to enhance any work she displayed to make it more appealing to the buyer. Some frames were for sale, others were merely for display use while a painting was on exhibit. Large worktables were as cluttered with paraphernalia as her office. Yet she knew where everything was. The layout suited her perfectly.

Laura held open the door while Jed Brodie stepped inside and looked around. She followed and closed the door to the gallery, leaning against it. She wasn’t sure what to expect. Certainly not the image of Jordan looking at her with impatience. Jordan would have tried to sweet-talk her into whatever scheme he had come up with. Kisses would go a long way to have her fall in with his plans. For a moment, she missed the love they’d shared—that she’d thought they’d shared.

This man looked coldly around the space and didn’t say a word. She would not take offense, though she could feel herself bristle a little in defense of her workshop. But there would be no cajoling, no teasing, no kisses. He looked hard as iron.

Jed turned and faced her. “I understand you were Jordan’s fiancée,” he said, glancing at her from head to toe.

She felt like a display piece. One he would not wish to purchase.

She nodded watching him warily. For a moment she felt a pang that she had not even known his name. How awful to have a family who disregarded a son so completely. If his assessment was to be believed, he didn’t fit the role of black sheep. He looked dynamic and successful. She had a good eye for fine things and the suit and shoes he wore were fine indeed. His hair was cut shorter than Jordan’s and his eyes were clear and sharp.

She took a breath in surprise when that smidge of interest didn’t dissipate. It was totally unwanted. He wasn’t Jordan. She shook off the momentary lapse. She’d had enough dealings with the Brodies. The sooner this one was gone, the better.

“We were engaged,” she acknowledged. “He told me once he had a brother who was off building bridges. Since he never mentioned another brother, I assume that’s you.”

“Probably all he told you. I’m an engineer, and yes, I build bridges in places of the world where transportation means the difference between living and dying for entire villages.”

“That could be said for anywhere. All goods have to be transported.”

“True, but where I was working was out of the normal travel lanes. The message about his death didn’t reach me until last week. It’s taken me this long to get here.”

“Last week? He died three months ago. Your office didn’t notify you?” She couldn’t believe a telegram or e-mail or something hadn’t gotten through earlier than last week. Despite not wanting to feel anything for the man, she felt a touch of regret that he’d just learned of his brother’s death. It had to have hit hard.

“Have you dealt with my parents much?” Jed asked.

“Primarily your mother. She lets me sell some of her work.” She would not tell him how Maria was driving her crazy about the showing of Jordan’s work. She was Jed’s mother, as well, and Laura believed in being discreet. Wasn’t that the reason she never told what she’d discovered that last day? She wanted to spare Maria the heartache. And herself the embarrassment, if she were honest.

She wished she’d not known. That Jordan had gone to his grave with the secret and she could mourn him with all the passion she held for him.

“She called the home office and left word for me to call. Nothing more. Nothing to indicate that it was a family emergency, not that there had been a death in the family. The message about the call came in my regular mail, which I get about every three to four months, unless it’s critical, in which case it’s faxed or e-mailed.”

From the tight control he exercised, she suspected he was furious with the situation. She’d always heard twins had a close connection. How sad to lose his brother and then not find out for three months. Maria wouldn’t have done it deliberately, she knew. The woman lived in her own world. Surfacing occasionally to interact with others, then going back to the paintings she did so brilliantly.

“So when I returned her call last week, she told me,” he ended bleakly.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her heart going out to him. Despite everything, she’d loved Jordan and could relate to how his brother must be feeling.

He ignored her offer of sympathy. “Where are the paintings?”

She went to the rack where she had them stacked. To an outsider, it might look haphazardly arranged, but she knew exactly where everything was. The large room was climate controlled, necessary in the salty air of Cape Cod and the humidity of summer. The floor was immaculate. The paintings were arranged by subject matter. She gestured to the facing one.

Jed studied it a moment, then looked at her.

“What’s its value?”

Was that all he cared about? Money? “I haven’t appraised the lot. Your mother said she only wanted them on display, not appraised.”

“Well, my mother lives in her own world. What price would you list it for in the show?”

“Actually the show is a retrospective. Your parents did not plan to sell any paintings. I thought your mother wished to keep his work.”

He reached into an inner coat pocket and pulled out a bulging envelope. He held it out for her. “You’ll see Jordan left me in charge of his estate. According to his attorney, I have complete authority. And I don’t have time to wait around for several weeks while you show his paintings and then decide what the next step is. I have a bridge halfway built. I want to liquidate the assets and divide them among the family members, as he indicated. Then I need to get back to work.”

Laura looked at the envelope and then at him. “So leave the paintings in my hands and I’ll tell you how the showing goes,” she said flippantly. “Your mother really wants this for Jordan.” Laura hoped giving the exhibit would ease some of her own grief at the way things turned out.

Jed studied the painting for a minute. “Is it any good?”

Laura looked at it. “It will appeal to a certain portion of the population,” she said carefully.

“Like some farmer in Iowa?” he said derisively.

She looked at him in surprise. Did he know she was from Iowa? Was that a criticism on her judgment?

“I may not be artistic, but I can recognize excellent work. My mother’s paintings have a depth that’s amazing and a use of color that’s phenomenal. This looks like a paint-by-numbers view of a ubiquitous Cape Cod seascape,” he continued.

Laura bit her lip in indecision. Normally she agreed with customers—it went a long way to selling art. Agreement with the artists kept them happy and kept them bringing in more work. She didn’t like confrontation. But this was different.

“Am I wrong?” he challenged. His dark eyes so like yet unlike Jordan’s, held hers.

“No,” she admitted reluctantly. “But there’s a definite market from tourists who want souvenirs to remind them of their holidays.”

“So why the show? If they aren’t any good, let’s get rid of them. I think they’d be more suited to the harbor tourist traps than a reputable gallery like this one.”

“I didn’t say they weren’t any good, just not up to your mother’s caliber. And she wants to have a showing of some of his work. There are so many other galleries they could choose to represent their work, but she chose this one.” And maybe holding the showing would assuage some of her own guilt. Would things have turned out differently if she’d given Jordan a one-man show like he’d asked?

“So you’re doing this for my mother?”

“Primarily.”

“What happened at his showing last winter?” Jed asked.

“What showing last winter?” she asked. A sinking feeling swamped her, remembering his obsession for a show. Had Jordan turned elsewhere? Maybe another gallery owner had found something in his work she’d missed. She looked at the picture, searching for an elusive aspect that would change its value.

“He said he was going to have a one-man show, said he’d invite me to the gala event. It pays to have connections in the art world, as I recalled the letter went. When no invitation came, I assumed he’d just forgotten. Not that I could have come. I was in Brazil at the time.”

“He didn’t have a show that I know of,” Laura said, remembering how passionately he’d pushed her for the chance. But he’d not wanted an alcove at the gallery when she had halfheartedly suggested that compromise. Jordan had wanted to commandeer the entire showroom in a solo production. Jordan’s assessment of his work differed from Laura’s.

“You’d know—it was this gallery he was talking about,” Jed said.

She turned back to the large table in the center of the room. Jed followed her with his eyes.

Laura was in the middle of a family situation she didn’t want to be involved with. She didn’t know all the ins and outs, but this man was not the beloved son Jordan had been. Was there going to be a fight about Jordan’s estate? Nothing was as it seemed. She wished not for the first time that she’d never met Jordan Brodie. Never fallen in love with the man. Never discovered him in bed with that beautiful woman.

“Jordan wanted to have an exclusive one-man show with no other paintings or sculptures to compete. I couldn’t do that. It never went any farther than discussion. I’m sorry if he thought otherwise.” She’d known he’d never been happy with her decision. He’d constantly pushed to have her display his work; and she’d constantly refused.

“When were you two going to get married?” Jed asked abruptly.

“We never set a date,” she said shortly. “Why?”

“For a grieving almost-wife, you seem fairly resigned to his death,” he commented.

“For me it happened three months ago, you’re the one who just learned about it,” she said. “I don’t wish to get in the middle of a family argument. Your mother and father asked me to do this. If, as executor of the estate, you say no, I will go along with your decision. But you need to inform your mother.”

Laura tried to think of all the different things she’d have to deal with to stop a show at this stage. The caterer would be all right. She’d have to write off the prepublicity. Maybe she could get the printer to cut her a break. She used him exclusively, so maybe he’d be generous.

Jed turned back to the paintings, pulling the first one forward so he could see the next one, and the next. Soon he’d looked at every one she’d selected.

“This all?”

“All I’m planning to show. I’ve allocated the alcove to the left for Jordan’s work. Your mother isn’t pleased with it, but it’s the best I can offer.”

“He has more?”

“Of course. As far as I know he never sold a thing. He has stacks of canvasses at the cottage. I chose the ones that I thought best represented his work.” And had the most chance for a sale in case Maria changed her mind.

“My mother didn’t choose these?” Jed asked, replacing them against the wall.

“She can’t bring herself to look at them yet. She trusts me to do the best for him.” Laura wondered if Maria would continue in that trust if she ever learned Laura had broken the engagement the day before Jordan had died. She looked away, remembering. It would be a long time before she’d forget that betrayal. She’d loved him and he’d thrown that away. But to keep his mother from knowing, Laura had not told anyone. She didn’t think the distraught woman could cope with more.

“Has she ever seen his work?” Jed asked.

“I suppose so. Why wouldn’t she have seen what he was doing over the years?” Laura had never questioned that. The dinners she’d attended focused on discussion about works in progress. Jordan always had a good story about what he was working on. Had Maria seen his recent paintings?

“My mother recognizes talent. There is very little showing here.”

“Maybe as a mother, she thinks everything her sons do is perfect,” Laura said, wondering not for the first time what Maria’s reaction would be when she saw the work hanging from the gallery walls. To hear her talk, Jordan had extraordinary talent. She was going to be so disappointed. Laura had asked her several times to come look at the paintings. Maria steadfastly refused.

“Not all sons,” he said absently. “Can you give me an appraisal for tax purposes? Not just of these, but of all he did?”

Laura nodded slowly. She could do a formal appraisal. She’d done it before and her credentials gave her the expertise to be accepted by the IRS. However, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She was trying to forget Jordan, move on with her life. What would being surrounded by his work, visiting the cottage where she’d been so happy and so devastated, do to her equilibrium?

“I’m heading to his cottage next. How many canvasses will I find there?”

“Lots. I never inventoried or counted. He has them stacked against the walls of his studio.”

Jed glanced at his watch. “Have you had lunch yet?”

Surprised at the question she shook her head.

“Come eat with me and tell me what I need to know about art and how it’s appraised and how much it’ll cost and how long the appraisal process will take,” Jed said—ordered more like.

“There’re other appraisers around. Maybe you should get one of them.” She didn’t want to go back to the cottage.

“Conflict of interest?”

“I would give you an honest assessment. But you might wish for someone else.” Would she truly give a reliable, unbiased appraisal or would the hurt and anguish of the last few months color her opinions? No, where art was concerned, nothing stood in the way of her honest and forthright opinion.

“You know his work. You’d be best.”

Jed’s attention focused on her. Those dark eyes seemed to peer deep into her innermost part. Her breath caught for a moment. She felt a warmth and curiosity that surprised her. What was there about this man that caught her unaware? He was grieving for his brother. That should give them a common bond. She grieved for Jordan’s death. And for the lost love she’d so happily embraced.

Laura blinked. She could almost feel the energy radiating from Jed. The focus on her was unsettling. He was not at all like Jordan despite his looks. She’d do well not to confuse the two just because they looked identical.

“I’m not really keen on that kind of work,” she said, stalling. She didn’t want to spend any more time with Jed Brodie than absolutely necessary. Or with the bittersweet memories of Jordan when he first began courting her.

“But you know art values.”

She nodded.

“You don’t want my folks to know everything is worthless, is that it? They’ll blame you if you don’t appraise it high? And that would damage your relationship,” Jed guessed.

She shook her head. “I never said Jordan’s paintings are worthless. They are not up to your mother’s work. She thinks he was tremendously talented. I hate to be the one to disappoint her. I like your mother.”

“Don’t worry about Mom. Where art is concerned, she’s totally honest.”

Laura was trying to gradually pull back from Maria and Jefferson and their grief. She longed for the business relationship she’d enjoyed when Hugo was still alive and running the gallery. Before Jordan had swept her off her feet. Before things had gone so wrong and emotions and relationships became tangled.

She studied the man in front of her another minute. He looked so much like Jordan she had to keep reminding herself he wasn’t. If he kept looking at her, she’d forget business decorum and reach out to touch him. Once burned, twice shy was the old saying. She needed to be more cautious in her personal life from now on. Not take at face value words designed to convince her she was special. This man was yummy to look at, but was he any different from his brother on the inside?

“It’s only lunch,” he said, amusement creeping into his eyes.

Her bones felt as though they were melting. That look was captivating. She turned away, trying to get control of herself. This was not Jordan. And if he were, she’d be furious with him.

“Come and fill me in. We can visit the cottage afterward and you can give me an estimate on time and cost for an appraisal.” His tone was almost cajoling. Maybe he also had some of that charm that Jordan displayed.

She needed to think this through. On the one hand, it was merely business. She could assess the paintings, do a written report and add some much needed funds to the coffers. She could handle that.

On the other hand, the man was a constant, vivid reminder of Jordan. Her emotions were still in turmoil. Could she forget the past and do the work without some emotional cost? And without becoming infatuated with the spitting image of the man she’d loved until three months ago?

She turned toward the door. “I need to get my purse and let Heather know I’ll be gone for lunch. But I can’t go to the cottage this afternoon, I have an appointment at two.” She would take this one step at a time. If she could manage lunch with Jed, it would give her an idea of how working with him might be.

“So we’ll discuss when you can schedule the appraisal over lunch. Get your purse, I want to look at the rest of these paintings.” He turned his attention back to the canvasses stacked in the rack.

Laura had a feeling she was making a mistake. She still held the envelope he’d given her. Maybe she could quickly read through the papers to make sure Jed was who he said he was. She couldn’t imagine agreeing to his demands and finding out later it was all false.

As she walked through the display area to return to her office, she was pleased to notice several people browsing. Heather stood by attentively, yet let them gaze at whatever they wanted without interrupting them. The gallery was located right on Harbor Street, the main thoroughfare of Miragansett. The colorful historic town was a tourist mecca in the summer months. Hugo had opened the gallery decades ago, before the current interest in old getaways swept the monied set. It was the best location in town.

Once inside her office, Laura opened the envelope. Inside was a copy of Jordan’s will. She had not been at the reading as he had left her nothing having written the will long before he met her. She’d been surprised a man that young even had a will. It was short and to the point—he requested his estate be liquidated and the money divided between his parents and his brother, except for whatever paintings of mine my brother Jed wants. He’d appointed Jed as executor.

“Probably because he’s the only one in the family who isn’t the artistic type,” she murmured.

The letter from the attorney outlined his duties and authority. Jed Brodie was the man to deal with, not Maria or Jefferson. And even if they wished to keep the paintings, they couldn’t. They’d have to purchase them from the estate. How ironic.

Laura reached into the drawer for her purse wondering how this would complicate her life. Nothing was ever the way it seemed when dealing with the Brodies.




CHAPTER TWO


JED stood near one of the large plate-glass windows at the front of the gallery gazing out over the busy street when Laura finally left her office. He felt like he was in some kind of time warp. His parents had not been overjoyed to see him. His mother accused him of deliberately staying away from the funeral. He’d explained about the timing of the message, but she refused to accept any responsibility on its delay, saying she’d told the woman who answered to have him call. It was more trouble than it was worth to keep repeating she should have mentioned it was a family emergency.

Sometimes he wondered how his mother made it in the real world. She expected everything to run according to her rules and when they didn’t, it was never her fault.

Being an artist was the cause. She lived that mystique for all it was worth. Jed remembered making meals when he was in high school so the entire family could eat. His mother would be lost in oil paints, his father in his studio working. Jordan had either been out with some girl or talking on the phone.

How did they manage meals now, he wondered briefly.

“I’m ready,” Laura said, coming to stand next to him.

He glanced at the woman his brother had been going to marry. He didn’t understand this relationship, either. Laura was not the type of woman he knew Jordan liked. She didn’t have big blond hair, wasn’t built like a Playboy bunny and seemed all-around stable. Her honey-golden hair barely brushed her shoulders. Her brown eyes held honest appraisal when she looked at him. She wore little makeup. Her dress was suitable for a successful businesswoman. Had his brother finally given up his bimbos and settled down with someone who could add stability to his life?

Or had he proposed to insure he always had a market for his painting? The cynical thought wasn’t fair to Laura. She was a pretty woman, as well as being a competent business owner. The gallery was obviously doing well. Maybe his brother had finally matured and had been ready to settle down. Jed had not seen him for the last five years. A man could change in that time. Maybe love was the key factor here. He’d heard love could change the world.

“Where do you recommend we eat?” he asked.

“Sal’s Shack has good seafood sandwiches. It’s crowded but there’s always a table somewhere,” she said. “Unless you have another place in mind?”

“No. I don’t know the area. My folks moved here when I was in college. I’ve been here for only a few visits since then.”

Jed opened the large glass door for her and followed her into the sunshine. The wide sidewalks were not crowded despite the number of people strolling along. It was late June, the beginning of the summer months when tourists outnumbered the residence five to one. The summer economy kept the town going year-round, but the other visits he’d made had been in fall. He thought he liked the place better when it wasn’t so crowded.

He looked at her. “Didn’t Jordan tell you?”

She kept her gaze forward and shook her head quickly. “I knew your family was a fairly recent transplant as Miragansett families go. But they were here before me, so they seemed like longtime residents to me. Jordan wasn’t much for talking about the past. He was always looking toward the future and what success he’d achieve when his painting took off.”

Or he’d make love talk. The hours they spent together were for the two of them, not talking about his family or the past.

“He was thirty years old, how long before his painting took off?” Jed asked.

Laura shrugged. She slipped dark glasses over her eyes. She didn’t want to talk about Jordan.

Jed tried not to let it bother him that his brother had not shared more information about their family with Laura, but he wondered what kind of engagement it had been. How could she agree to marry him and not know more about the Brodies?

“How long were you two engaged?” he asked.

“We were engaged for two months,” she said.

“And you knew him how long before that?”

She glanced up at him, her expression hard to read with the dark glasses. “Is that important?”

“Just curious.”

“Jordan swept me off my feet and we got engaged only a couple of months after meeting. I’d known your mother for longer, of course. Hugo represented some of her work so I knew her first from business.”

“So how did you two meet?” He wasn’t surprised to hear Jordan had swept her off her feet. He had that ability. Jed knew he’d never sweep anyone off their feet. He didn’t have the glib charm that Jordan displayed so easily. For him life was more serious. He didn’t think the world owed him anything. He had to make his own way. A slight, but significant difference between the two of them.

Women liked the carefree charm of his brother, Jed knew. There’d been plenty of instances when they’d been in school and college. He was nothing like Jordan in that area. The few women he’d dated over the last decade had been casual friends. His work in foreign countries didn’t make for long-term relationships.

“He came into the shop about a year and a half after I became the owner. He brought a painting to show me, wanting me to represent him. I declined based on the one painting, but he was persistent, insisted on taking me to dinner to discuss things. We began dating and before long he asked me to marry him. I said yes.”

Where was the falling-in-love part? Jed wondered. Maybe Laura was still too raw from Jordan’s death to talk about that. Yet there was a hint of anger in her tone. Wasn’t that part of the grieving process, anger that the person who died had left?

“You two were obviously not very close,” she commented.

“Distances prevented it.” Distance and their past. Jed kept secrets few people knew he had. Jordan had moved on, why couldn’t he?

“With today’s e-mail and telephones everywhere, you could have kept in closer contact if you both had wanted. I always thought twins were close,” she said.

“Maybe ones who share more than just looks. I don’t have the family artist talent. Jordan couldn’t care less about load ratios and wind factors. He went his way and I went mine.”

“And never the two shall meet,” she finished. “I didn’t even know you were twins,” she said sadly.

Jed looked at her in surprise. “Jordan didn’t speak of me at all?”

“Only to say you were the younger brother and worked out of the country and the family rarely saw you. Which explained why you weren’t at home for Christmas.”

Jed didn’t want it to bother him, but it did. How could his brother be so close to this woman and not even mention they were twins? He had never fully understood Jordan. This was another incident to add to the list.

They reached Sal’s Shack. It was situated right on the harbor, with a huge wooden deck jutting over the water, dotted with umbrellas to shade the tables—most of which were full of laughing, happy tourists and townsfolk eating lunch. The hostess led them to one of the umbrella-shaded spots near the railing. The bay was calm today, ruffled only occasionally by a gust of wind. The blue was deeper than that of the clear sky. A perfect June afternoon in Miragansett.

Jed saw one or two people look their way as they walked through the crowd and do a double-take. They probably had known Jordan. Were they others who had not known he had a twin?

He felt overdressed. Everyone on the deck was in casual shorts and cropped shirts. Dark glasses repelled the sun’s glare. Some had hats that lifted slightly in the gust of breeze from the sea. His suit was as out of place here as at the bridge site.

As soon as he returned to his hotel, he’d change into something more casual. It’d been a long time since he’d taken a vacation. He’d planned to combine the business of Jordan’s estate with some time relaxing in the seaside town. Working in the jungle he wore khakis and the coolest cotton he could. Those clothes would fit in here, as well, he thought, surveying the other men.

He looked at Laura. Her dress was pale pink and looked cool, sort of casual, yet businesslike. Her hair blew away from her face which left it available to his gaze. Her skin was lightly tanned, her dark glasses hiding her eyes from his.

He wondered what she thought about dealing with him now, instead of his mother.

He’d already run into trouble with his mom on the terms of Jordan’s will. She didn’t approve of Jed’s having the control and claimed she should have all of Jordan’s paintings. It was a formality only; if she had to she could buy them all. The money went into the estate and then it would be divided back between him and his parents. Still, he planned to follow the letter of the will. Jordan had obviously written it for a reason.

Jed had been surprised to get a call from the lawyer once he’d spoken to his mother. He had not known Jordan had named him as executor. Everything had been put on hold until Jed could be located.

He and Laura both ordered the shrimp subsandwiches and iced tea. The hum of many conversations gave a background white noise. Above it, the slap of waves on the sand beneath the deck could barely be heard. The erratic breeze from the sea kept the temperature manageable, though Jed did slip off the suit jacket and roll back his shirtsleeves.

“It’s hot. Not many men wear suits here,” she commented.

“I came straight from the airport. I saw my parents briefly then came to see you,” he explained. Now he wished he’d changed first. Still, he was on a short time frame and was impatient to get things going. He felt like a fish out of water here. He wanted to wind up the estate and get back to work. His second in command could handle things, but Jed liked to run the construction site himself.

“I read the will,” she said. “It appears you have full authority. How does that impact the show? Will you let it proceed?” She withdrew the envelope from her purse and handed it back to him.

“I knew nothing about the proposed show. When I discussed it with the lawyer who wrote the will, we made plans to liquidate assets as soon as possible. We’re already three months after his death. My mother can buy his pictures, based on your appraisals, and show them if she wishes. If his paintings weren’t selling, what was he doing for money?”

Laura didn’t know how much their family talked to each other. Not much if Jed’s questions were anything to go by. She was curious about the true relationship. Jordan had said so little about his brother, or anything else actually—except how fabulously they’d live once his paintings sold. And how much he loved her. How he would treat her like a queen when the money began to roll in.

Foolish pipe dreams she now knew better than to believe. Her face flushed in memories of the love they’d shared. How she never asked questions, always content to bask in the moment. She’d been an idiot in retrospect. But what a blissful few weeks she’d had.

Jed was watching her. What had he asked?

“Your mother subsidized him until he began to sell.” She tried to keep her tone neutral. Her parents lived a modest lifestyle in Iowa. She’d been raised to become self-sufficient at a young age. She couldn’t imagine her own parents thinking they had to support her at this point in her life. She looked away. That was unfair. They would have helped her in a moment’s notice if she’d really needed it. Maria had lots of money; she probably didn’t think two thoughts about subsidizing Jordan.

“He was thirty and hadn’t begun to earn a living. Would he really ever have?” Jed asked.

She bit her lip, feeling the wash of guilt. Would it have hurt her any to have hung one or two of his paintings in her gallery? Maybe some tourist would have bought them and given Jordan a boost that could have changed his future.

“It’s hard to say.” Because she had not given him that chance.

She looked at Jed, feeling surreal talking to the man who looked so like Jordan. His features were identical. Only the shorter haircut and different attitude showed her she wasn’t living in some dream or caught up in the past. She could be excused for the awareness that hovered. He looked like someone she loved. Her body had a hard time differentiating between them. But her mind knew. She wasn’t going down that idyllic path a second time.

Their sandwiches came and for a moment conversation was suspended while they began to eat.

“Tell me about yourself,” Jed said a little later. “You’re not from here…I can tell from your accent.”

She laughed and put down the sandwich she was about to take another bite from. “I like to think I have no accent and those from here are the ones with the definite accent. I’m from Iowa. I went to college in Boston, studied fine arts, then looked for the ideal job. I found a less than ideal one in Boston where I had the opportunity to learn all I could about current art, appraising, marketing. I spent weekends and vacations looking for another position. A few years ago I came to Miragansett for a long weekend, fell in love with the place and began to look for a job. Hugo Atkins was kind enough to hire me and here I’ve been ever since.”

“It’s a nice town, what little I’ve seen over the years. My parents lived in Boston until I started college. I’ve been on my own since, and for the most part on assignments out of the country, so I’ve never spent much time here. But I remember my mother raving about Hugo’s gallery. It was one of the best in all of Cape Cod, she once said.”

“I like to think it still is. He died almost two years ago. I was fortunate he left the business to me,” she said quietly.

He raised an eyebrow at that but before he could speak, he heard a rise in the conversation level. Turning, he saw his mother. Maria Brodie wove her way through the tables until she stopped at theirs.

“What are you doing talking to Laura?” she demanded, frowning at her son.

Jed rose politely. “I didn’t expect you to join us for lunch,” he said easily.

“I’m not joining you!”

She glared at Laura. “I called the gallery. Heather told me you had come here to have lunch with Jed. He’s nothing like Jordan. He’s only here to wreak havoc with our lives.”

Jed was glad to see some things never changed—like his mother’s bent for dramatics.

Turning back to her son, she continued, “Haven’t we had enough heartache with Jordan’s death without your interfering with our plans?” Her dramatic tone seemed to expand to include the entire deck and all the people there. Most of the customers at nearby tables stopped eating, fascinated by the scene unfolding.

“I’m only following Jordan’s instructions, Mother. You saw the will, you know this is what he wanted,” Jed said quietly. He knew better than to try to head her off. She loved an audience. Did she realize so many people were watching?

“He wrote that several years ago. Things have changed. He should have left me the paintings, or at least left them to Laura. She was going to be his wife. It’s not fair!”

Laura started to open her mouth, thought better of it and closed it firmly. Glancing around, she saw other diners avidly observing every nuance.

“Maria, please, sit down and join us,” she urged. “People are staring.”

Maria paused, glanced around haughtily and then sat in the chair Jed quickly drew out for her.

She glowered at her son. “You stay away from Jordan’s fiancée. I remember the rivalry you two boys had, always trying to take away each other’s girls. You can’t have Laura. He was happy here, away from your interference. Stay away from Laura!”

“Then shall I find someone else to appraise Jordan’s paintings? We were having lunch to discuss that,” Jed said easily, sitting back in his chair. He wondered if he was going to be able to finish his sandwich. How did his mother live with such high drama all the time? He’d find it wearing.

Maria looked surprised. She glanced at Laura. “Of course I want Laura to appraise his work. She’d do a marvelous job. She loved Jordan and admired his paintings, right dear?”

Laura gave a polite smile but kept quiet, lest she end the months of silence and tell Maria exactly what she’d thought of Jordan, and how she’d ended their engagement twenty-four hours before he crashed his car against that tree. If and when she told, it would not be at a crowded restaurant with potential customers listening avidly.

Actually, she had no plans to bring more heartbreak to Maria. The woman had loved the idea of their marriage. She had been needy after her son’s death, relying on Laura for several things since then. Her heart ached as Maria’s must. She didn’t want to cause any problems for the family.

“I would appraise the paintings to the best of my ability,” she said.

“There!” Maria looked in triumph to Jed. “She’s the best for the job.”

Jed inclined his head slightly, a smile tugging at his lips. “So glad you approve my choice.”

Laura admired his patience. She drew a deep breath, determined not to get upset with Maria this afternoon. She’d had enough turmoil already this day.

“She’s one of the best art dealers in town,” Maria said. She looked at what they were eating. “I’ll have the shrimp, also,” she said.

Jed summoned the waitress and placed an order for his mother.

Maria ignored Jed and looked at Laura. “I planned to stop by the gallery to look at that alcove again. I think it’s too small and not light enough for the best display of his paintings.”

“Mother,” Jed interrupted. “Have you seen the pictures Laura picked out for the show?”

“Not yet.” Maria paused a moment, then took a deep breath. “I cannot bring myself to see my darling boy’s work. I know I will be devastated all over again. It’s all I can do to make it through each day. Planning this retrospective has given me something to focus on. I’m sure opening night will be almost more than I can bear.”

For a moment Laura thought Maria might start crying. She’d been inconsolable at the funeral. Laura had visited a few times since, spacing the visits longer and longer apart. One day they would move back into the realm of gallery owner-artist, but for the time being, she was destined to play the part of grieving fiancée. Half the time she felt like such a fraud. The other half, she genuinely grieved and wished fervently that Jordan Brodie was still alive and she’d never walked in on him that afternoon.

“They are not up to your standards,” Jed said.

Maria waved her hands in the air as if that was of no importance. “Probably not yet. I’ve had twenty years more experience than he had. But the talent was there. Given time, he probably would have been one of the leading painters of the twenty-first century.”

Laura blinked. Maria was really living in a fantasy world. “No,” she said involuntarily.

Maria and Jed looked at her.

“What?”

Laura shifted position slightly, glancing at Jed in appeal. “The paintings are nothing like what you do, Maria. I don’t believe Jordan had the discipline you have to continue to grow in his work.” She stopped short. If what Jed said earlier was true, Maria needed to see the paintings to know her precious son would never have achieved her level of success.

Unless he stopped drinking, of course. Maybe his entire life would have been different had he not wanted to party more than anything. Why hadn’t she realized that at the time? She’d enjoyed their clubbing as much as he had. But she would not have continued forever. Would he ever have settled in marriage? She’d never know.

“Come by the gallery and see them,” Laura continued. “Help me choose which frames to use for the different subjects I’ve chosen. If you don’t like them, we have time to select others from his inventory.”

“Oh, I couldn’t bear it. I don’t know how I shall be able to be at the showing, yet for my poor son, I shall be there. But I don’t believe I can see them more than once so soon after his death.”

“You need to view them before the show,” Jed said. “They aren’t very good.”

“How dare you besmirch your brother’s work! From the time he was seven or eight years old, he showed great promise. We all know you have no artistic talent, Jed. Don’t belittle what you can’t do yourself!”

Jed’s eyes narrowed as if in anger. But his voice remained calm when he spoke, “I can’t draw worth a damn, but I do recognize raw talent, and it’s not there.”

The waitress arrived with Maria’s sandwich.

“Wrap it up, I’m leaving,” she said imperiously. She rose. Jed rose. Laura watched bemused as they stared at each other for a long moment. Maria spoke again,

“I expect the show to proceed as planned. I trust Laura to have selected the best of his work and once the community sees the paintings, everyone will realize the loss to the art world his death caused. You’re the executor, figure out how to have those paintings be available for the show.” She followed the waitress back toward the restaurant proper to get her wrapped sandwich.

Jed sat and looked at Laura.

“She’s heading for a big disappointment.”

“The paintings aren’t that bad,” Laura said diplomatically.

“They aren’t that good. She expects to see masterpieces. Instead she’s going to see mediocre work. Are those the best?”

Laura nodded, fiddling with her iced tea glass.

“He liked to have a good time, didn’t want to be responsible, accountable, or grow up. And there was no need, as long as Mom subsidized him,” Jed said with frustration.

Laura said nothing. She began to eat again, but the sandwich tasted like cardboard. As soon as she could, without looking as if she were fleeing, she wanted to leave.

“So when can you come out to do the appraisal?” he asked.

He was relentless. “Not before Thursday afternoon,” she said. Today was Tuesday; if he was in such a rush, maybe he’d not want to wait that long. She began to think it would suit her better to have another appraiser handle the task. She felt battered from all the drama of the day.

“Fine. What time?”

“Two?” Drat. She should have said she was busy until next week, or next month. Or just flat out told him no. She glanced at him. She didn’t think many people told him no.

“I’ll be there. I have to clear out Jordan’s things. See if there is anything else worth selling. Most of his clothes I’ll donate. Do you have a recommendation where?”

“There’s a thrift store in Provincetown that supports a children’s group. If I were doing it, I would donate there.”

“What of his things do you want?” he asked gently.

Laura shook her head. “There is not one thing I can think of I want.” She was not truly entitled to anything, even if Jed thought differently. She had ended their relationship. Had her ending the engagement caused Jordan to crash his car? She hoped not, but the nagging doubt remained.

She tossed her napkin on the table and rose. “I have to get back to the gallery. Thank you for lunch. I’ll see you Thursday.” Unless an excuse presented itself before then so she could get out of doing the appraisals without questions being raised.

Jed rose with her and waited until she walked away before sitting down again.

Just as Laura was about to step away from the deck, she glanced back. He sat gazing out over the harbor. For a moment, she thought she caught a glimpse of loneliness. She hesitated. Maybe she’d misjudged Jed Brodie. There was no denying the tug of her heart as she debated returning to the table. For what? To see if she could cheer him up? Nothing could do that. And any close association could lead to a revelation she didn’t want made.

Turning, she headed back to the gallery, planning her next appointment. And then she’d turn her attention to appraising the paintings that were currently awaiting framing.

She’d call in Jasper Mullins, as well. He owed her a favor and could give a second opinion. Not that she questioned her judgment. Hugo’s instructions over the years and her own experience since gave her confidence in her decisions. But for what she owed Jordan and his parents, she’d see if she could get another opinion.



Jed stayed at the table long enough to finish his meal. He hadn’t eaten regularly in the last couple of days with the time zone changes and three different flights. He was hungry and tired. And not looking forward to winding up his brother’s affairs. He wished things had been different. He loved his mother. He didn’t always understand her, but he knew what she considered important. It had never been about him, always about Jordan. He’d come to terms with that situation years ago.

His father was also in a dream world most of the time, sculpting from marble or granite—revealing what the rock hid, he said. He only surfaced when it was time to sell the piece. He drove a shrewd deal and his pieces were now sought after, by private collectors, as well as modern museums.

The clean salt air felt refreshing after the constant scent of rotting vegetation that permeated the area around the Amazon River basin. He had become used to the smell over the months, only now realizing how foul the air seemed in comparison.

Tossing some money on the table, holding his suit jacket with one finger, he slung it across his shoulder and headed back to his hotel. He’d call the office, let them know he was extending his visit. This was not something he could handle in a day or two.

To appease his mother, he’d let the showing take place. How that would affect probate, he’d have to find out from the attorney. Once he’d unpacked and changed into cooler clothes, he’d head for the cottage and assess what needed to be done there. He couldn’t believe he’d never see his brother again. That he wasn’t going to be called upon to bail him out of yet another scrape. Or hear some convoluted plan on how Jordan would make a million dollars.

They hadn’t been close, but he missed him like hell.

What had his life been like here? Jed had never visited Jordan’s cottage. Would the place remind him of Jordan? Or would it be so unknown to him no reminders would arise? He hoped for the latter. He wished Jordan had written his will differently. Jed wished he could still be in the Amazon Basin sweating over delivery of the next supply ship, haranguing the local laborers to work faster or the blasted bridge would never be complete. Wouldn’t that have antagonized his mother, to not even come home once he had learned of Jordan’s death?

Yet there was nothing to be done. Jordan was gone. It was hard to grasp he’d never see his brother again. Never find that magic moment when they’d be close as they had been as young boys, before the obvious favoritism of their parents had caused the schism. Death was very final.




CHAPTER THREE


LAURA sat on the sole lounge chair on her minuscule balcony, gazing at the narrow wedge of the sea visible from her third floor flat. The evening was pleasant. She’d put on a baggy T-shirt to sleep in, brought out a glass of white wine and propped her feet on the railing. No one could see her as she sat in the darkness. It was one of her favorite times of the day. As the ocean breeze cooled the night air, she let her thoughts drift. Time and again they returned to Jed Brodie and the ambivalent feelings she had around him. She didn’t like him. He reminded her of what she wanted to forget. Yet she felt sadness for his loss. Despite his relationship with his brother, it had to hurt when a sibling died. Laura was an only child, but she could use her imagination.

She knew better than to give into her softer side. Jed wasn’t Jordan. A man less needful of someone fussing over him she hadn’t met. She’d fallen for Jordan fast and lived to regret it. Could she trust her judgment about men? Especially Brodie men?

Yet she was not one to sugarcoat things. She’d been attracted to him. His tanned features looked rugged and masculine. The way he’d looked at her with those dark eyes, as if she was the only thing to focus on, she had one hundred percent of his attention when he looked at her. She shivered in memory.

Her phone rang. She went inside and got her portable, returning to the balcony as she clicked it on.

“This is Laura,” she said, settling down again.

“Is it too late to call?”

She recognized Jed’s voice instantly. Suddenly she was fully alert, on edge. Why was he calling?

“Not at all. What can I do for you?”

The darkness hid all things. She could talk to him and keep her secrets.

There was a moment of silence on the other end.

“Jed?”

“This is probably a bad idea,” he said.

“What is?”

“Calling to ask you about Jordan. You probably have a million things to do.”

“Actually I’m sitting on my balcony enjoying the night air. Where are you?”

“In a hotel room without a view. One of the last ones left and lucky to get that, according to the desk clerk. The television has nothing on it to warrant my attention. After eighteen months in Brazil, you’d think I’d have plenty to catch up on. I don’t know anyone in town except my parents and you. And I guess that’s a tenuous connection at best.”

“What can I tell you?”

“How he was these last few months. What he was interested in. Besides you, of course. Was he happy?”

She took a sip of her wine, stalling. She didn’t want to remember the last few months. “I think Jordan had the capability of being happy no matter what. He never seemed to take anything seriously enough to impact his outlook on life. It was one of the things about him that appealed to me. I worry about the gallery, worry about keeping a steady flow of quality artwork coming in and selling. Worry about taxes and the weather and lots of things. Jordan never did. And when I was with him, I’d forget and have fun.”

It was what she missed most about him, she realized.

“Yeah, he had an optimistic outlook that didn’t quit,” Jed said slowly.

“He used to make me mad sometimes, never thinking the worst would come. But he was so often right, the worst didn’t happen. He had a lot of friends, none close that I know of, but plenty to hang out with, go clubbing, or sailing. He loved being around people—which surprised me a little,” she said slowly. She was again coming to realize some things that should have given her clues to the real Jordan.

“Why’s that?”

“Most of the artists I know are content to be their own best friend. Jordan had scads of friends. He was not a loner.”

“We were different in that aspect. Actually we were different in many ways, not just that. He always seemed to have a flair for making friends. From the time we were in elementary school together, he had a circle of friends for any occasion.”

“Did you?”

“I had a few friends. Hung on the outskirts of his groups if I didn’t have anyone to hang out with. He was generous that way.”

“He was freehanded. I wish…” Laura trailed off.

“What?”

“That I had appreciated how he was before he died. I think I wanted him to change, and of course no one can change once they are a certain age—unless they wish it. I loved his carefree attitude, but wanted him to be more practical. I loved going to parties with him, yet yearned for quiet evenings at home. What does that say about me?”

“That you wanted a balanced life, not all one-sided.”

“You make that sound nicer than I think it was.” Not that any of it mattered once she’d discovered him in bed with that woman. She closed her eyes, wishing she had another memory to supplant that one. It was the worst one she could remember him by.

“You’re at the hotel?” she said a minute later. “Why aren’t you staying at your parents’ house? Or staying at the cottage? Your mother rents that cottage, you could stay there.”

“Let’s just say it’s easier to come and go if there are no family dynamics to get in the way.”

Laura frowned. What did that mean? “Did you get a lot done today?”

Again there was a pause. Laura could hear rustling in the background. Suddenly she wondered if he had gotten ready for bed as she had. Was he in boxers, or nothing at all? Jordan had slept in the nude, did his brother?

Her heart raced as her thoughts veered away from the conversation. Dragging them back, she chastised herself for the wayward ideas. Jed was Jordan’s brother!

“I went through his clothes, packed them all in bags. There weren’t as many ghosts as I expected,” Jed said.

“Ghosts?”

“Memories. We were inseparable as boys. We began to go our separate ways in high school and after our first year in college acknowledged we were too far apart in our philosophies of life to keep in close touch. I bet I only saw Jordan a half dozen times in the last decade.”

“Your choice, or his?” she asked. Jordan had not seemed to miss his brother. Had that been only a facade? There was so much she didn’t know about the man she’d once thought she’d marry. Another clue they weren’t suited. Why hadn’t she picked up on them at the time?

“Mutual.” He was silent. “Actually more on my part than his. I was tired of—” He stopped abruptly.

“Tired of what?” she asked.

“Cleaning up after him. It’s not important. Water long over the dam now.”

“It’s hard to hold on to anger when the person is gone, isn’t it?” she said slowly. “He was wonderful at first, then changed a little. Now I’d give anything to have him back—warts and all.” Could she have forgiven him as he’d begged? Once trust was shattered, she didn’t know how to rebuild it.

“Some things seem insignificant after all,” Jed said. He took a breath she could hear over the line.

“Changing the subject, what did you do this afternoon?”

“Instead of coming to the cottage, do you mean?”

“You had plans when I showed up. I was merely curious as to what.”

“I met with a client who loves to collect certain glass sculpture. She and I have been working together from the time I first joined Hugo. She’s a lovely elderly lady who has enough money to indulge herself.”

“Sell her anything?”

“Not today. I had nothing I thought suitable for her. But we had a lovely tea and I promised to keep my eye out for just what she wants.”

“That all?”

“There’s more to running an art gallery than sitting around and waiting for people to wander in and buy,” she said. Did he think she didn’t work hard at her job?

“I didn’t mean that. As I said, just curious. Sometime you’ll have to tell me all that’s involved in running a successful art gallery.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Jordan’s place was dusty. Did he have a maid or something? I can’t see my brother cleaning a house. Or am I wrong?”

She smiled, feeling the ache fade. “Actually I can’t see Jordan cleaning house, either. Planning for a blowout party, yes. He had a cleaning service once a week. Maybe your mother suspended the service after his death. I know she hasn’t been to the cottage since he died. She’s grieving so it hurts to see her so sad.”

“I know. It’s going to take her a long time to get over this, if she ever does.”

Laura wondered if it would take Jed a long time to get over his twin’s death. She wished she knew him well enough to ask.

“Do you want me to bring you your things from there? Or will you pick them up on Thursday?” he asked.

Laura felt as if she’d been slapped. She knew nothing of hers remained at Jordan’s. “There’s nothing I want,” she said slowly.

“Nothing?”

She didn’t recognize the odd tone to his voice. Should she have taken whatever was there and not raised questions?

How to explain she’d cleared out everything she’d had there the afternoon she’d walked in on Jordan and that young woman in his bed. Any feminine apparel had to belong to the other woman.

What a tired cliché. The hurt and betrayal rose again. She was so angry with Jordan she could slap him, if he were still here. How could he lie to her so?

“I want nothing—donate everything. Maybe I should have sorted through the clothing,” she said. She would have found anger a driving force to get everything packed up and donated. Anger at herself for being so gullible and falling for a glib charmer. And anger at Jordan for using her and not being honest. Anger that he’d been seeing someone else while professing he loved her. Anger at shattering the dreams she’d built of their future.

Anger that she had not proved to be what he needed as she’d once thought he was what she needed.

“It wasn’t that hard. I packed up the clothes out of the closet and drawers. The clothes still in the dirty hamper I just tossed. The rest I figured were clean. Maybe you can give me the address of the thrift shop and I’ll drop them there tomorrow.”

Quickly she ran through the things she needed to do the next day. Guilt made her volunteer, “I could go over with you if you want. It’s not hard to find if you know Provincetown, but a bit tricky to give directions as I don’t know the street names, just how to find the place.”

“I thought you were busy until Thursday afternoon,” he said.

“I said that’s when I could start the appraisals. The process takes time and concentration. I have a bit of free time tomorrow afternoon, take it or leave it.” She already regretted her hasty comments. Let Jed find his own thrift shop to donate to.

“I’ll take it. I’ll take you to dinner afterward in appreciation for your help.”

“No need.” She didn’t like the fluttering that sprang up at the invitation. This was not some man she could become interested in.




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